


Snow Blind

by orphan_account



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Humour, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “When Auguste and I were little, we would come out here after the holiday feast and play.  I would always manage to catch him off guard, get snow into his breeches."  Laurent closed his eyes for a brief moment of that bittersweet, pleasure-pain of remembering Auguste.  “I thought I was so clever, but I’m certain now it was just another moment he let me best him.”“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.  I have seen that cleverness for myself.”  Damen reached up, his bare, cold fingers drawing a line from Laurent’s temple to his chin.  “Though if you think of doing that, you will not like my retribution.”





	Snow Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little winter ficlet because I haven't written these two in a while, and I love them.

If Laurent had been a betting man, he wouldn’t have put money on being able to get Damen into anything Veretian. At least, not if it didn’t involve anything intricate like tearing down a slave-trade ring, or slipping unnoticed into a brothel to have a moment away with his beloved.

But he would have been wrong. He would have lost money.

Laurent had not considered winters in Vere, as Damen’s time there involuntarily had been short, and they had escaped the confines of the city walls long before the harsher months set in. With the new capital moved to Marlas, they were subjected to more temperate seasons—nothing harsh in summer, but nothing like the blankets and seas of white of Arles after the harvest season.

It had been a fluke, that their presence was required for the betrothal of a Duchess of Vere, to be married off to Torveld to seal an alliance between the two kingdoms. Damen had heartily agreed, but the look upon his face when their carriage entered the city was something to behold.

Wonder, and mistrust.

Damen had never seen snow.

The skies were a hazy grey, which Laurent was grateful for. There were sunny days in Arles during winter, leaving those who dared to venture outside snow-blind. Laurent had a feeling his husband would dislike it even more, and demand they keep away every winter had that been his first impression.

As their carriage rolled to a stop, Laurent glanced at Damen’s sandaled feet and snorted. “I warned you.”

“You said nothing of…of this,” Damen said, glowering pointedly out at the ground which had been cleared for the kings’ arrival, but would not offer protection from the sharp bite of cold wind. He had at least thought to bring a travelling cloak, but it would do very little against the harsher elements.

Laurent sighed, leaning forward, curling his hand against the back of Damen’s neck which seemed to mollify him for the moment. “I had Charls prepare something for you. Appropriate garments are waiting for you in our chambers.”

Damen sighed, but nodded and stepped out. His face was steely, well practised in giving away nothing, but Laurent knew his tells. He could see the tension in Damen’s calves, in the way he clutched his fists as they were greeted by their staff.

He saw the hurry in his husband’s step as they approached the entrance, and the way he still did not find warmth in the draughty halls of the castle.

It didn’t help they spent very little time here since combining kingdoms. Laurent could hardly blame his lover for not wanting to set foot back in the city that had seen him nearly flayed alive, at his own hand, as it was. The halls were too familiar—too many memories too close to so much pain.

But things were different now, and Laurent felt something unknot in his chest when Damen turned his head back toward Laurent and smiled.

Clothing was laid out for them in their rooms, and Damen stared at it for a long, long moment, a look of forlorn on his face.

Which led to the moment outside in the white-coated gardens. Damen was little more than a fur-covered cloak and scowling eyes as he stood there in Veretian boots crafted to withstand the cold. Not an inch of skin was showing, and Laurent had the backs of his gloved knuckles pressed to his mouth to keep from laughing.

When a small noise escaped him, Damen spun and fixed his stare on his lover. “This amuses you?” he demanded, voice muffled from all the cloth.

Laurent supposed it should be a crime to cover all of him up like that, but there was a certain, warm, hidden appeal in the back of Laurent’s mind at the thought of peeling him out of the layers. Bit by bit. He shivered, then squared his shoulders, face going impassive as he shrugged. “It’s not often I get to see you so ruffled, Damianos.”

“This is absurd,” Damen growled, and he stalked toward Laurent like a lion after its prey. His boots crunched softly over the snow as the distance between them closed. “This…this weather, these garments, your _smug grin_.”

Laurent bit the inside of his cheek, then lifted his hand to push the hood back away from Damen’s cheek before he cupped it. “I thought you liked every bit of me.”

Damen, who had refused the gloves, curled his fingers into Laurent’s hip, dragging him close. Even through his layers, Laurent could feel the heat of the touch, and he tried to stop himself from melting into it, but failed. “I like some slightly less than others. But I suppose that less is still far more than I have ever appreciated anyone else.”

“Even your beloved Jokaste?”

Damen made a low growling noise in the back of his throat as his hand tightened and he dragged Laurent closer. Their mouths touched then, both sets of lips chapped and cold, but it still sent warmth singing under Laurent’s skin. “Do you need me to reassure you again, my love? There is a sturdy tree over there, but I have a feeling we will be buried by all the white when the thrust into your body shakes it all from the branches.”

Laurent bit his lip, getting lost in the playful twinkle of Damen’s eyes. “When Auguste and I were little, we would come out here after the holiday feast and play. I would always manage to catch him off guard, get snow into his breeches." Laurent closed his eyes for a brief moment of that bittersweet, pleasure-pain of remembering Auguste. “I thought I was so clever, but I’m certain now it was just another moment he let me best him.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. I have seen that cleverness for myself.” Damen reached up, his bare, cold fingers drawing a line from Laurent’s temple to his chin. “Though if you think of doing that, you will not like my retribution.”

Laurent chuckled, then let his gloved hand take Damen’s bare one. “I can think of a far better way to bide our time until tonight. The baths here are warm.”

“I remember,” Damen muttered, but his voice was not hot with regret this time.

Laurent swallowed. “Shall we make a few new memories there?”

Damen’s smile was beaming, brighter than any glint of sun on snow, and he tugged Laurent into one final kiss. “Yes. And I suppose if that is where your dreadful winter leads us each time, I shall not regret our visits here. So long as they are not too often.”

Laurent found himself laughing quietly as Damen quickly pulled him along.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr, [itwasseven](https://itwasseven.tumblr.com)


End file.
